[2]

“I don’t even know what to say, Aunt Margaret,” I murmured, lowering my gaze.

“Oh, heavens,” Margaret chuckled softly. “You’ve been thanking me all evening, dear. But you should know—what I’m doing for you now is nothing compared to what your mother once did for me. So relax. Don’t feel indebted.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Well, here we are.” Margaret led me up to the second floor, occasionally pointing out rooms as we passed. The house was enormous—just as she’d said. There were so many rooms, each one grander than the last. Everything about it spoke of a world far above mine.

I’d grown up surrounded by love, even if our lives had been modest. My mother was a kindergarten teacher; my father worked for the local government. We were never wealthy, but we were happy. Still… I couldn’t help but stand in awe of this place.

“This will be your room, Leah.”

The door opened—and I froze.

It was breathtaking.

The walls were painted a soft white, perfectly paired with ivory curtains that swayed gently from the breeze drifting in through a small balcony. A large bed stood in the center, its linen sheets glimmering faintly beneath a delicate crystal chandelier. A vanity table sat by the window, a thick cream-colored rug lay underfoot, and a vase of fresh flowers brightened the nightstand.

It all felt like a dream.

And me? I was just a girl who used to living in a cramped rented apartment, sleeping on a thin foam mattress, listening to my neighbors argue through the walls. This was… unreal.

“If you need anything, just call for Mrs. Alvarez,” Margaret said kindly. “She’s the head housekeeper—she’ll help you settle in.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Aunt Margaret. I really… I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

She smiled, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “By simply enjoying what’s been given to you, dear. Besides, I feel like your presence might finally bring a bit of life back into this house.”

My brows furrowed. “What do you mean by that, Aunt?”

She only laughed, waving the question away. “Get some rest. You have classes tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“Good.” Her hand brushed the top of my head affectionately. “Make yourself comfortable here, Leah. Think of this place as your own home.”

When the door closed behind her, silence filled the room like water. I took a hesitant step forward, then sat carefully at the edge of the bed, staring up at the high ceiling.

Ethan’s words still echoed in my mind—I don’t want her in this house.

I hugged my knees, pressing them to my chest. Maybe he was right to feel that way. I was an outsider, suddenly dropped into their lives without warning. Even if we’d crossed paths on campus before, this was different.

And Adrian… For some reason, his silence had been harder to bear than Ethan’s anger.

It was as if I didn’t exist to him at all.

I drew in a slow breath, staring down at my tightly clasped hands.

Fine. Then I’d just have to prove that I belonged here. I wouldn’t be a burden.

No matter how small, I’d find a way to be useful.

***

The next morning, sunlight slipped through the curtains. I woke earlier than usual, my steps instinctively leading me toward the kitchen, where the faint clatter of pans and the smell of toasted bread filled the air.

“Good morning,” I greeted softly.

A gray-haired woman turned toward me. Her face was kind, though her expression carried quiet authority. “You must be Miss Bennett.”

I offered a polite nod. “Just Leah, please.”

“I’m the housekeeper here,” she said.

“Ah, Mrs. Alvarez,” I replied, remembering what Margaret had told me.

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Have a seat. I’ll prepare your breakfast. Would you like anything special this morning?”

“Oh, no!” I shook my head quickly. “I’m not picky about food. I just… wanted to help.”

“Madam Margaret wouldn’t want you to work. You’re a guest in this house.”

“But I can’t just sit around doing nothing,” I pleaded. “Please, let me help—just a little. I’m used to working, and I’ll feel guilty if I don’t do something.”

Mrs. Alvarez studied for a moment before her expression softened. “All right, if you insist. But only for this morning.”

I smiled gratefully, and together we began preparing breakfast. There was a peaceful rhythm to it—the quiet clinking of dishes, the warm smell of coffee—until the sound of footsteps broke the calm.

When I turned, Adrian was standing in the doorway.

He wore a simple white shirt; the sleeves rolled to his elbows—the same one I’d glimpsed earlier when he must’ve been in his study. But now, as he returned dressed for the day, everything about him shifted. A charcoal blazer framed his shoulders perfectly; a pale blue shirt set off the color of his eyes; a slim tie rested neatly at his collar.

The morning light brushed over the fine fabric of his suit, glinting faintly against the smooth weaving.

I must’ve stared too long. There was something in the way he stood—straight-backed, calm, entirely in control—that seemed to draw the air tighter around me. Adrian Hale looked nothing like he had the night before. Not just refined—dangerous, in a way I couldn’t quite name.

My chest felt oddly warm, as if something inside was trying to escape. I lowered my head quickly, pretending to be busy with the cup in my hands, praying he wouldn’t notice how unsteady my breathing had become.

“Good morning,” he said shortly.

I bowed my head slightly. “Good morning, Mr. Hale.”

A faint, almost inaudible sound—half a sigh, half a click of disapproval—escaped him before he crossed the room to the table. His movements were calm, measured, yet somehow every step seemed to pull the air with him.

“Ethan’s not up yet?” he asked Mrs. Alvarez.

“Not yet, sir. And Madam Margaret left early this morning for the Southern State—something about her law firm,” she replied.

Adrian sat down and unfolded the newspaper in his hands. “Of course,” he murmured under his breath, as if speaking only to himself.

I helped Mrs. Alvarez set the plates, though my eyes couldn’t help but drift in his direction. He seemed absorbed in the pages before him, yet every so often, I felt it—his gaze shifting toward me. Not directly. Just a flicker. But enough to scatter my focus.

“Sit.” His voice came again—low, steady, leaving no room for questions.

I hesitated. “I can eat later, Mr. Hale. I still—”

“Sit,” he repeated, this time softer, but no less commanding.

I pulled out a chair and sat at the far end of the table, staring at the plate before me. Everything about it looked too polished, too elegant—too far from my world.

“Margaret said you study at San Francisco State?” he asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

“What’s your major?”

“Psychology.”

Adrian slowly folded the newspaper and lifted his gaze to me. “Interesting. So, you like observing people—reading how they move and act?”

I paused, unsure how to answer. “Not really. But watching people helps me stay aware. Sometimes… people are hard to read.”

The corner of his mouth curved faint but unmistakable. “Sometimes that’s because they don’t want to be read.”

Our eyes met. And for a moment, the world seemed to still. There was something in his look—not gentle, not cold either. It was the gaze of someone measuring, assessing… perhaps even hunting.

I cleared my throat softly and lowered my eyes to my plate. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“No need to thank me,” he said quietly. “As long as you remember your place.”

He didn’t say it cruelly—but the words landed heavy in my chest all the same.

“I understand,” I whispered.

He studied me for a long second before taking a sip of his coffee. “Good.”

Silence.

Only the ticking of the wall clock and the sound of our breathing filled the room.

I knew I should look away—shouldn’t let myself get pulled in—but there was something about him that felt inescapable, like gravity itself.

“What time do you leave for campus?” he asked suddenly.

I almost choked. Grabbing my glass, I drank too quickly, trying to steady myself. “Uh… eight. I have a morning class.”

He only nodded, as if that simple answer was enough.

By the end of breakfast, I was sure I’d developed some sort of digestive problem. Eating under that kind of quiet tension, with the air itself seeming to press down on me, was torture. But I couldn’t complain—not when I had a full plate, a warm bed, and a roof over my head. I had no right to.

After that uneasy breakfast, I got ready for class—an oversized sweater, faded jeans, my hair pulled into a careless bun. A touch of makeup, just enough to look awake. I double-checked my bag to make sure I hadn’t forgotten any books.

The moment I stepped out the gate, the cool morning air brushed against my face—crisp and refreshing. The weight I’d been carrying seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet thrill at the clear sky above.

I was just about to cross the street when the sound of an engine—smooth, low, deliberate—made me stop in my tracks.

A sleek black car stopped right in front of me—glossy, elegant, far too luxurious to be idling by the side of the street. The window rolled down slowly, revealing the man who’d been sitting across from me at the breakfast table.

“Get in.”

His voice was calm, flat even, yet something in it sent a chill crawling up my spine. I investigated the car, then at him. Adrian Hale sat behind the wheel—sharp jawline, perfectly knotted tie, his reflection faintly mirrored in the glass.

“Mr. Hale?” My voice came out barely audible, a mix of nerves and disbelief.

He flicked his gaze toward me. Just a glance—but it was enough to set my pulse racing. “I’ll drive you to campus. Get in.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but the words died before I could speak to them. There was something in his tone that didn’t allow space for argument.

So I inhaled slowly and stepped inside.

The door closed with a soft thud, sealing us in. The scent of leather and his subtle, masculine cologne wrapped around me, filling the confined space. He said nothing, simply pressed down on the accelerator. The car moved smoothly, almost soundlessly, but the air between us felt tight—charged with an unspoken weight.

I glanced at him. His focus was absolute, hands steady on the wheel, expression unreadable. Yet the energy he carried was… suffocating.

“Mr. Hale, I really don’t want to trouble you. I can take the subway,” I said softly, trying to break the silence.

The corner of his mouth twitched—whether a smirk or a hint of amusement, I couldn’t tell. “You think I’m doing this because you’re a bother?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made me shrink back in my seat.

I didn’t answer. My gaze drifted to the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and motion. Still, I could feel him—his eyes flicking toward me, brief but deliberate.

“Leah.”

My whole body tense. The way he said my name—it wasn’t loud, yet it seemed to ripple through me, disarming and magnetic all at once. I turned toward him quickly, though his attention never left the road.

“Since you’re staying in my house,” he said evenly, “I want to know when you leave, when you come home, and who you’re with. Think of it as… me making sure you’re safe.”